A Brood of Vipers
by Firebird9
Summary: When an old friend of Phryne's is found dead in an alleyway our detectives are convinced that it was no random robbery. But with an entire family of suspects and a multitude of motives, figuring out whodunnit might prove to be a bit of a headache.
1. Chapter 1

**A Brood of Vipers**

**Author:** Firebird9

**Rating:** T

* * *

"But, my dears, wasn't that just terrible news about poor Billy Postlethwaite?" Bunny Thornton remarked as she sipped her cocktail. There were murmurs of agreement from the other women in the beauty salon and Phryne, who had been more or less out of circulation for a few days while she dealt with a particularly sensitive case involving a rather young, and very well-bred, mother-to-be and her mysteriously absent soon-to-be fiancé, lifted a slice of cucumber from her delicate eyelid and regarded Bunny with interest and more than a little concern.

"Whatever do you mean?" She and Billy had been friends in her London days, and although she hadn't seen much of him since her return to Melbourne she didn't like the idea that he might be in some kind of strife.

"Why Phryne, do you mean you hadn't heard? It's been all over the papers." Maybe, but she had been all over half-a-dozen small towns in the last few days and had hardly had the time, or the opportunity, to catch up since she had all-but-dragged the shamefaced young father-to-be back by his ear. At her slight headshake, Bunny continued importantly. "Well, it was just awful. The night before last he was set upon in an alleyway by some thugs and stabbed to death!"

"Dead?"

"Oh, yes. It's just dreadful," Amanda Hartfield chipped in, before adding in a rather slyer tone, "although rather convenient for that wife of his." This was met with murmurs of agreement from the other women, and Phryne thinned her lips. Yes, she had heard the rumours but she had not wanted to believe them.

"Awfully convenient for the entire family, one way or another," Roberta Butters agreed, eliciting further murmurs. Evidently the general consensus amongst the ladies of Melbourne Society was that the late William Postlethwaite was unlikely to be as lamented as he might have hoped. Phryne sighed and removed the cucumber from her other eyelid before standing.

"Phryne? Surely it hasn't been half an hour yet?"

"Barely fifteen minutes, but I've just remembered that I have an appointment to keep that just can't wait."

...

"Billy Postlethwaite's death was no senseless robbery-gone-wrong!"

"And a very good morning to you as well, Miss Fisher." Jack Robinson glanced up from the files littering his desk before swiftly glancing down again. Anything to hide the smile that was tugging at his lips. It had been a number of weeks since Melbourne had furnished a murder complex enough to pique The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher's interest, and he was no longer dismayed, or even surprised, by the realisation that he had been missing her company. True, she had dropped by the station a time or two ('four times, to be precise,' the part of his brain that wouldn't allow him to pretend that he didn't keep track of such things informed him), and he had allowed his weary feet to make their way to her house for a nightcap once or twice ('three times,' his helpful brain corrected), but it hardly compared with the many hours of close company which a case demanded. He forced his expression to polite neutrality and raised his head again just as she dropped into the seat opposite him.

"For a start there are his brothers. They were partners in the family business: with Billy dead Archie becomes senior partner and he and Bernard both increase their share. Meanwhile, if the rumours are anything to go by, Bernie was having an affair with Charlotte. That's Billy's wife," she added in case he was uncertain, but she continued before he could do more than nod acknowledgement of the fact. "Then there's his sister, Marjorie. Their father was firmly of the opinion that a woman didn't need to be financially independent. Margy gets a modest annual allowance, payable to her husband, upon marriage, but meantime she's completely dependent on Billy. And while he was certainly more generous than his father he wasn't about to throw open the family coffers to her, let alone give her a stake in the family business. Which is a shame: Margy's arguably the brightest of the lot. And then there's his gambling habit: Billy was almost ruined in London before his father stepped in five years ago. Now that Algernon's dead Billy was in a position to ruin the whole family if he went back to his old ways. Not to mention that if he _had_ started gambling again there might very well be some angry creditors out there looking to recover their debts – although I don't think that's likely, given that dead men very seldom pay their bills."

She finally paused to draw breath, glaring at him across the table as though daring him to contradict her. He smiled inwardly. That was Phryne: once she got going, stopping her was about as easy as stopping a fully-loaded train dead in its tracks, and similarly messy. Much better simply to stand clear and wait for her to run out of steam naturally.

"As it happens, I agree." She blinked, surprised.

"You do?"

"Indeed. Although I'm fascinated to know just how it is that you're so familiar with the deceased and his family, but we'll get to that. What happened to his leg?"

"He had polio as a child. It meant he was unfit for active service in the War; a fact he bitterly resented."

"One of the good ones then," Jack mused. Plenty of able-bodied men from privileged backgrounds had used their rank as a means of avoiding active duty, preferring to leave the working-class plebs like himself to face the enemy on their behalf. "Why would a man crippled to the point that he walks with a cane be out for a late-night stroll more than half a mile from his house? He didn't drive: couldn't. He wasn't dressed for a night out. He was killed elsewhere and the body dumped to make it look like a robbery. But there were no signs of a struggle. Either he knew his attacker and didn't see it coming, or he was drugged. I've got Dr. Johnson testing his stomach contents for sedatives as we speak."

"And what does Dr. Johnson think at this point?"

"He wanted to know whether testing the stomach contents was your idea. I informed him that I was working the case alone, but that if you thought that the brain should be examined I'd be sure to let him know." She loved it when he caught her eye and smiled like that, with the cheeky, conspiratorial grin that made her wonder just what the younger Jack Robinson might have been like, before the War stripped much of that sense of humour away. "Now," he picked up a notepad and pen, jotting down a few notes based on what she had already told him, "how about you tell me exactly how well you knew the deceased." When she didn't answer immediately he looked up to see her smirking at him. She raised an eyebrow, and he sighed. "Another one, Miss Fisher?"

She chuckled, pleased to have had him going. "No, as it happens. As strange as it may seem I don't actually make a habit of bedding every man I meet. And he was already married to Charlotte when we met. That was in London, about six years ago."

"Just before he got himself into strife with his gambling?"

She shrugged. "He was probably already well on his way, even then. It's so much a part of the life over there; the races during the day, and the gaming tables at night. Heaven knows, I'm not immune to the delights of a little flutter myself. But with Billy it was always a lot more than a 'little' flutter. One way or another his father got word of what was going on, and dispatched Archie to sort it all out and bring him home. Archie never forgave Billy for being sickly, and it was even worse after the war broke out. Billy couldn't serve, and Bernie was too young, so poor Archie bore the entire burden of the family's honour and expectations. When he returned home they expected him to play the conquering hero, and of course..." she trailed off, looking to him for understanding. Many returning servicemen had simply wanted to forget, as much as possible, all that they had seen and done. Pressure from others to play the part of the returning hero made that all but impossible. "And then, when all he wanted to do was settle down at home in Melbourne with a new bride of his own, he was dispatched back to Blighty to pick up the pieces of Billy's profligate ways. And even after all that, Billy was still the heir."

"And then Algernon died?"

"About two years ago. Emily – that's their mother – passed away during the Spanish Flu epidemic while Archie was still en route from France. Yet another reason to resent his brother – Archie was always their mother's favourite but it was Billy who got to be there for her final days. Anyway, now it's just the four of them, plus Charlotte and Josephine."

"Josephine?"

"Archie's wife, and mother of the only two heirs born into the family so far, although don't ask me their names, I'm horrible with children."

"But if Billy didn't have any children, that would give Archie an additional motive to remove his brother from the line of succession: not only would he become the heir, but his children's futures would be similarly secure."

"The whole family is a veritable viper's nest of bitterness and resentment. It's no wonder Billy moved to London."

"I'm impressed, Miss Fisher. We have four suspects among the immediate family, plus an unknown number of possible associates from the gambling underworld, and at least-" he tapped his pen down the page, counting "- six possible motives. That's complicated even by your standards." He rose and went to collect his coat and hat. "Coming?"

"To interview the family?" He nodded, and she grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you all for your lovely encouraging reviews. It's good to be back, although my current obsessive, full-tilt writing pace is reminding me of why I took a break. Bad for me, good for you. Enjoy!_

* * *

Hugh Collins found himself relegated to the back seat of a police car as the Inspector took the wheel and Miss Fisher claimed the shotgun seat alongside him. Not that he would have dreamed of attempting to displace Miss Fisher from anywhere she wanted to be: he still occasionally had nightmares about the time the Inspector had had him arrest her. It had been the most terrifying experience of his life, and that was _before_ she had convinced his sweetheart to pull a gun on him. Thus far he had little idea why, exactly, they were heading off to interview various members of the Postlethwaite clan. All he had gathered was that Miss Fisher said that William Postlethwaite had been deliberately murdered, quite possibly by a member of his own family, and that the Inspector agreed. As far as Hugh was concerned, Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson were the twin stars by which he navigated the stormy seas of justice, and if they had accused the good Lord himself Hugh would have considered them right unless and until it was definitively proven otherwise. Although on reflection that might get him into a certain amount of strife with dear Dotty, who would never consent to hear her God spoken of in such terms.

"So, who's covering the robbery angle?" Miss Fisher asked as they pulled smoothly away from the kerb and into the traffic.

"Sergeant Moreston. I'll leave him on it for now: he needs the experience, and in the extremely unlikely event that we're wrong I'd rather not leave the robber's trail to go cold."

"And is that 'robber' singular, or 'robbers' plural? The ladies at my salon implied that he'd been set upon by a whole gang of thugs."

Jack smiled, amused. "You mean to tell me I've initiated a full-scale murder investigation on the basis of salon gossip?"

"You would be amazed what secrets slip out in the sanctity of the salon. It's almost as good as a confessional, although you usually end up hearing about other people's sins rather than those of the person actually making the confession."

"Really? In that case, remind me to borrow one of your dresses and set about infiltrating this veritable font of information as soon as we've solved William Postlethwaite's murder." The two exchanged one of those funny smiles that Hugh had seen pass between them a few times before and he sat very still, trying not to call attention to himself. Dot swore up and down that the pair were madly in love but utterly refusing to admit it even to themselves. Hugh wasn't certain that he knew enough about these things to comment, but he did know that whenever Miss Fisher joined their investigations the atmosphere was, one way or another, completely different. And that when Miss Fisher stayed away – or, worse, when the two had had an argument – the Inspector became a holy terror to the officers under his command until the Lady Detective returned to the station.

"To answer your question," the Inspector went on, oblivious to his silent back-seat audience, "death was inflicted by a single knife-wound under the left side of the rib-cage, probably delivered face-on."

"Hence your observation that he may have known his killer."

"Which fits with your theory that it was a family member."

...

Archibald Postlethwaite sat behind his desk in the head office of the family's manufacturing company, a man slightly younger than Jack but with a face etched by the acid of bitterness into lines that made him look older.

"I really don't see why you feel it necessary to interview me," he remarked irritably. "My brother was murdered by a robber: why don't you concentrate your efforts on apprehending him?"

"I can assure you we're endeavouring to cover every angle in order to solve your brother's murder as swiftly as possible," Jack responded calmly. Archibald, however, narrowed his eyes at Phryne.

"You were one of William's crowd in London, weren't you?" The tone was not friendly.

"Yes. And _I_ can assure you that identifying the person who murdered Billy is extremely important to me."

"Why? Was it important to you when he was ruining himself and the family's reputation in every sordid gambling den in London?"

"Mr. Postlethwaite." Jack interjected, before the conversation could get too far out of hand. "At this stage we're merely trying to ascertain the sequence of events leading up to your brother's death. You mentioned that he had a gambling habit in London. Is it possible, do you think, that he had returned to those habits here in Melbourne? That he might have made enemies in connection with his gambling who could have wished him harm?"

Archibald pursed his lips in thought. "It's possible, but not likely. Although my brother had ultimate control of the family's finances I can assure you that I take a very close interest in these matters, as does his wife. If he was gambling again, it certainly wasn't significant enough to come to my attention."

"We'll look into it anyway," Jack replied. Vice would be able to help on that angle, although he suspected that Archibald could account for every penny the family owned.

"Was your brother in the habit of taking late-night walks?" Phryne asked as Jack signalled to Hugh to ensure he'd written 'look into W.P.'s gambling' in his careful hand.

"I'm sure I don't know what my brother was in the habit of doing; we haven't lived under the same roof since 1915. But given the state of his... health – well, I'll leave you to draw your own conclusions."

"And when was the last time you saw your brother?" Jack continued.

Archibald thought for long enough to make both detectives believe that his answer, when it came, was sincere. "We were both in the office on Tuesday morning. I had a meeting that afternoon; when I returned my secretary informed me that he had left for the day." His lip curled in a sneer. "As I said, my brother never enjoyed the most robust of health. My wife and I joined them for drinks after dinner on Tuesday evening, then William said that he was tired and retired early, so we returned home. That would have been around nine o'clock. The next morning their butler telephoned to inform me that the police had arrived with news of William's death, and I drove straight over. Of course, my brother inherited the family pile."

"You have two other siblings, don't you?" Jack enquired.

"Yes, my sister Marjorie, and our brother Bernard."

"And where do they live?"

"With William and Charlotte."

"And how would you describe their relationship with your brother?"

Archibald drew a deep breath, apparently considering his response. Then he shrugged. "Well, my sister resented William's niggardly ways when it came to her allowance, particularly given how much money he'd wasted on his gambling debts, and Bernard was sleeping with his wife, so I suppose you could say that things were somewhat strained."

"In your opinion, was William aware of Bernard's relationship with his wife?"

He narrowed his eyes. "With all the trouble that my brother has brought upon this family, I counselled him most strongly against the disgrace of a divorce, especially given that Charlotte would almost certainly have married Bernard."

"And what would you have been willing to do in order to prevent your brother from bringing further shame upon the family?" Phryne demanded. "Would you have killed to keep the family's reputation intact?"

Archibald smiled condescendingly. "Miss Fisher. I won't insult your intelligence by denying that I, and my family, will likely only benefit by my brother's death. Please don't insult mine by suggesting that, had I killed him, I would not have come up with something more subtle than a 'robbery' gone wrong."

"But the benefits which you, personally, accrue by your brother's death are significant," Jack observed. "As your brother and his wife were childless, you now succeed him as heir to the family estate, as well as gaining a controlling share in the family business. The family's finances are now secure from your brother's gambling habits, and even if, after a decent interval, your sister-in-law were to marry your surviving brother it would hardly amount to a significant scandal."

Their suspect folded his hands and leaned his chin on them, turning that condescending smile upon Jack. "And I would lose it all and be utterly disgraced as soon as a nosey police officer thought to look into the matter. I'm very sorry, Inspector, but you have the wrong man."

...

"Well?" Jack turned to Phryne as they headed back to the car.

"Well, he's right. If he was going to murder his brother he would have come up with something much more convincing."

"Agreed, although it could be a double-bluff. We'll keep him in mind, but for now let's move on to the younger brother. I believe the secretary mentioned that he would be lunching at his club. Collins?"

Hugh, who had been all but ignored for the last hour, jumped slightly at being addressed so unexpectedly. "Uh, yes sir?"

"Your thoughts?"

"Well, he could have done it sir, but then again he might not have. We do have an awful lot of suspects on our list."

"Brilliant observation, as always, Constable." The Inspector's tone was tart, but not nearly as scathing as it had been over the last couple of weeks, while Miss Fisher was occupied with other matters, and Hugh almost smiled. His boss was in a good mood today.


	3. Chapter 3

Bernard Postlethwaite's club was exclusive, expensive, and guarded by a doorman in a Victorian morning suit complete with cravat and top hat. It was his job to keep the riff-raff at bay, and it was clear that this included not only nosey police officers intent on interviewing club members but also all things female.

"I'm very sorry sir, miss, but ladies are not permitted in the club."

"Miss Fisher is part of a police investigation. If she cannot come in, then I'd appreciate it if you'd ask Bernard Postlethwaite to come and speak to us outside. Or I could send my constable in to fetch him for us." Jack's tone was mild, but the threat was clear: Bernard Postlethwaite was going to speak to the police. Whether that happened in private or in public, with or without a uniformed police escort, rested entirely upon whether or not the club was willing to make an exception to its rules.

The man looked put out, but a glance at Jack's face convinced him that he wasn't kidding. "One moment please, sir."

Hugh, standing slightly to one side, saw the Inspector and Miss Fisher exchange another one of Those smiles before returning their attention to the door. It took only a few moments for the doorman to return. "Happily, sir, we have been able to make a private room available for your interview. The lady will be permitted to join you."

"I'm very glad to hear it." Jack gestured in an exaggerated manner towards the entrance. "After you, Miss Fisher."

"Why thank you, Inspector." Phryne inclined her head coquettishly as she preceded her friend into the building, which was dimly lit and decorated in a style which she could only think of as 'overblown masculinity': dark wooden panelling, dark carpets, and dark paintings of old men, glowering darkly. The air smelled of cigar smoke and expensive alcohol and she would have bet her good silk scarf that the furniture featured a great deal of leather, and that there would be a stag's head nailed to a wall somewhere. She felt Jack's hand on the small of her back, and smiled. Evidently bringing her into such an aggressively masculine environment was unsettling him and she glanced back at him with a reassuring look, earning a brief, tight-lipped smile in return. She wondered which he was more afraid of: what some of the patrons might do or say to her, or what she might do or say to some of the patrons. Probably the latter, but you never knew with Jack. The man was annoyingly inscrutable at times.

"If you would just wait here." Their reluctant guide escorted them into a room decorated along the same lines as the corridor, but with the addition of a window. A sideboard held several crystal decanters and a number of tumblers, and four leather armchairs were arranged around the room. There was no fire in the grate, but above the mantlepiece there was, indeed, a stuffed and mounted stag's head. After glancing briefly around, Phryne dropped herself playfully into a chair facing the door, and was unsurprised when Jack moved to stand alongside her, one hand resting on the wing of the chair. Hugh, of course, remained standing with stiff nervousness against the wall just inside the door.

A moment later the object of their search was shown in. He was a year or so younger than Phryne, and his face was softer than his brother's, although still showing traces of that same bitterness. He was beginning to thicken around the waist in the manner of a man accustomed to good food and easy living and lacking the self-discipline necessary to offset their effects, and in spite of the fact that he could no doubt afford the best tailors and came from a well-staffed household his suit appeared subtly rumpled and ill-fitting.

"Bernard Postlethwaite?" At the man's nod, Jack continued. "I'm Detective Inspector Jack Robinson, City South Police. This is Constable Collins, and the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective. We're looking into your brother's death, and were hoping to ask you a few questions."

"Uh, of course, although I don't know what help I'll be. Billy was robbed, then killed."

"Have a seat," Phryne suggested, gesturing to the armchair opposite her. Bernard sat inelegantly, in a manner that suggested carelessness rather than Phryne's artful playfulness.

"When was the last time you saw William?" Jack began.

"The night before last. Archie and Josephine joined us for drinks. It was only a few hours before..." He broke off, clearly more distressed than his surviving brother had been.

"And how would you describe your brother's mood that night?"

"Um, I don't know. Normal?"

"Archibald suggested he seemed tired," Phryne commented.

Bernard frowned slightly. "Not at first, but he did flag as the evening went on. It must have been the booze; Billy was never the strongest of fellows."

"Was William in the habit of taking late-night walks?" Jack asked.

Again, the slight frown. "Not really, not with his leg. But I suppose anything's possible. Maybe he felt the need to get out of the house."

"How would you describe your relationship with William?"

"Normal, I suppose. He was always the beloved eldest son and heir; got everything he ever wanted, while the rest of us were left trailing along behind. I don't think he ever took me seriously."

"And your affair with his wife; did he take that seriously?" Phryne challenged, and saw Bernard stiffen.

"Who told you about that?"

"It appears to be common knowledge throughout Melbourne society," Jack replied. "Archibald certainly knew, and he implied that William did as well."

Bernard slumped. "And here I thought we'd been so discreet." He gave them a pleading look. "It's just that I love Charlotte, you see, and she loves me, but if you think I killed Billy for her then you're wrong. Charlotte had already asked Billy for a divorce. We were going to go away together, just the two of us, start all over again. Billy was going to say yes, I just know it, and then we could have been happy together. That's all I ever wanted: to be happy. I'd never risk going to the gallows instead."

"Archibald implied that he'd talked Billy out of a divorce; too big a scandal," Phryne countered.

Bernard shook his head. "Maybe for now, but he would have had to say yes, and sooner rather than later."

"Oh?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

Bernard's eyes darted around the room, then he leaned in and said in a low voice, "Charlotte was pregnant."

"And the child was yours?"

"Definitely."

"How can you be so sure?" Phryne demanded.

Bernard gave a derisive snort. "Because it was common knowledge in the family that Billy was incapable of fathering a child." At their sceptical looks he elaborated. "Seven years of marriage, and Charlotte never conceived once."

"And you're certain the fault lay with your brother?" Jack asked.

"Billy was a cripple. It stands to reason that if there was a problem it'd be his damaged body that was at fault, not Charlotte's." He narrowed his eyes. "And do you really think Archie would have continued to say 'no' to a divorce when he realised that Charlotte was in the family way? As long as Billy remained childless, Archie's own son was heir to the family estate. But if Charlotte bore a child while she was still Billy's wife it wouldn't have mattered who the father really was."

"Because legally the child of a married woman is automatically considered the offspring of her husband," Phryne concluded. "Archibald would have had to get Charlotte out of the way before the child was born, and what better way than by marrying her off to his _younger_ brother?"

Bernard smirked in self-satisfaction. "Exactly."

Jack exchanged a look with Phryne, asking her with his eyes whether she had any further questions. At her slight shrug he returned his attention to Bernard. "Thank you, Mr. Postlethwaite, you've been most helpful. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."

...

"Thoughts?" he asked Phryne, once they were back on the road.

"Well, if Bernard's right about Archibald being willing to accept a divorce if it'd ensure his own son remained heir – and assuming that Billy would have been willing to grant Charlotte one – then Bernard doesn't have a motive. And if that _was_ Archie's motive then it'd have made more sense for him to do away with Charlotte than Billy. Stop the car."

Jack pulled over obediently. "Why?"

"Because there's an excellent restaurant just down that street, and this case is making my head hurt. And since the only possible reason for it to be having that effect on me is that I'm too hungry to think straight, it's time for lunch."

Hugh watched with open mouth as the two got out of the car, apparently intent on abandoning him to the rumblings of his own empty stomach, but an airy "you as well, Hugh," from Miss Fisher had him scrambling after them.


	4. Chapter 4

"Miss Fisher!"

"Steven!" Phryne greeted the Maitre d' with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. "Do you happen to have a table available for lunch?"

"For you, Miss Fisher, of course. Sarah!" This to the young cloakroom attendant, "help our guests with their coats."

Thus relieved of their outside garments (except for Hugh, who handed over only his helmet and truncheon) they were escorted to a table.

"I hope you're not expecting the Victorian Constabulary to pay for this, Miss Fisher," Jack remarked in a low voice. This was an upmarket restaurant in an upmarket neighbourhood, and he was certain even the air was expensive.

"Of course not, Jack. What's the good of being rich if I can't treat my friends to a meal? And heaven knows you perpetually look like you need one. It's fine, Hugh," she added, having glimpsed, out of the corner of her eye, the young constable's nervous dusting and straightening of his uniform. "There's nothing like a uniform to give a man a certain _je ne sais quoi_."

As Hugh had absolutely no idea what that was, he simply smiled and nodded. "Uh, thank you, Miss."

"If you had your way I'd end up with a waist like the younger Mr. Postlethwaite's," Jack murmured with a quirk of his lip as their took their seats.

"Too many pork pies and too much port," Phryne diagnosed. "A hearty meal for a working man is highly unlikely to yield the same results. He probably has gout as well."

"Now there's a charming image to go with my meal," Jack replied as he examined his menu. There were no prices. That was never a good sign.

Phryne, however, was unperturbed and, when she realised that her companions were unlikely to take the initiative, ordered for all three of them: soup of the day followed by chicken all round. She didn't bother suggest alcohol but instead requested three ginger ales, which appeared with remarkable alacrity. As they sipped and waited for their soup they briefed Hugh more fully on their case, the suspects, and the possible motives they might have for murdering William Postlethwaite. The younger man's brow became increasingly furrowed as he tried to follow the twists and turns of the family, until finally Phryne took his notepad and sketched a quick family tree complete with a number of lines with labels like 'affair' and 'resents'. That appeared to help somewhat.

"So, what's our plan after lunch, Sir?" he asked some time later, as they savoured the last few bites of their perfectly-cooked chicken and mopped up the last of the sauce with their fluffy white potato.

"We'll head to the Postlethwaite residences to interview the women and the staff, then to the morgue. I want those toxicology results, and I think it's time I examined the victim for myself."

"You mean you haven't done that yet?" Phryne asked.

"The case only crossed my desk this morning, when Moreston asked for my advice. He has potential," he added, when Phryne quirked an eyebrow at that, and then, with a sigh, "Miss Fisher, very few people have your ability to solve crimes through a dazzling mixture of charm, intuition, and a certain indifference towards the law. Most of us have to go about it the old fashioned way, by asking questions, gathering evidence, interrogating suspects, and hoping that someone lets something slip at the wrong moment."

"It sounds like an awful lot of unnecessary work. And I thought the old fashioned way involved thumbscrews and the rack."

"We got rid of those: too messy, and the screaming became distinctly tedious."

Once again, Hugh had the feeling that he'd stumbled into the middle of a private conversation. The Inspector certainly never seemed to talk like this to anyone else. Fortunately, his discomfort was alleviated by the discreet arrival of Steven.

"Was everything to your satisfaction, Miss Fisher?"

"Just wonderful, as always. I don't think we'll take tea or dessert though; the Inspector is keen to go and interrogate some more suspects."

"Very good Miss. And shall I put this on the account, as usual?"

"That would be perfect, thank you."

...

The 'family pile' as Archibald Postlethwaite had called it, was an impressively large stone house, almost a mansion, in the style of the mid-eighteen-hundreds. The door was answered by a uniformed butler, who asked them to wait while he established whether the mistress of the house and Miss Postlethwaite would be available to speak to them. He returned within a few moments to confirm that Mrs. Postlethwaite was waiting in the parlour, and Miss Postlethwaite would be available when they had finished. Jack and Phryne were shown through, while Hugh followed the butler to the kitchen to interview the household staff.

Mrs. Charlotte Postlethwaite was sitting in a floral armchair by the window, dressed in demure dove-grey and with a handkerchief twisted around nervous white fingers.

"Have you found the man who killed my husband?" she asked at once, while the detectives were still seating themselves.

"Not at this stage I'm afraid, Mrs. Postlethwaite," Jack replied. "We're still trying to determine how he came to be in that alleyway, and we were hoping you could help us build up a picture of what happened that night."

"Of course. Well, Billy arrived home from the office a little before five. He went to his room for a rest, then we all dined together at seven. At eight Archie and Josephine joined us for drinks, and around nine Billy remarked that he was feeling tired and went to bed. I saw Archie and Josephine out a short while later, and Margy excused herself to read. Bernie and I enjoyed a last drink together and then we went to bed as well."

"When you say you and Bernard 'went to bed', what exactly do you mean by that?" Jack asked slowly. When Charlotte didn't answer right away Phryne added gently,

"We know that you and Bernard Postlethwaite were having an affair."

"Oh God."

"And that you were expecting his child."

Charlotte bowed her head, tears spilling as she twisted the handkerchief in her fingers. "You have to believe me that I would never have killed Billy. I didn't love him, but he was a good husband to me. Too good! He knew about Bernie, and he... he knew – it had been seven years, he knew that he'd never be able to give me a child – that with Bernie I'd have a chance. Archie was the problem, not Billy. He's always so concerned with appearances: he made it clear that if I divorced Billy he'd make sure I lived to regret it, regardless of whether Bernie married me or not."

"Did either your husband or Archibald know that you were expecting?" Jack asked.

"I told Billy about a week ago. We were still trying to think of a way to tell Archie."

"And how did your husband react?"

"He was hurt. Very hurt. But he said that he understood. That he knew being a mother was important to me, and he wouldn't stand in our way. He said-" more tears "- he said that he just wanted me to be happy!"

...

"Do you believe her?" Jack asked softly, as they made their way to the drawing room where they had been told Marjorie Postlethwaite would be waiting. Phryne shrugged.

"They were absolutely besotted with one another in London. That was part of the problem: if Charlotte had been willing to put her foot down over Billy's gambling things probably wouldn't have gotten so far out of hand. But five years is a long time."

"Mrs. Postlethwaite isn't a particularly large woman, and given her condition... if she had sedated her husband, would she have been able to move him to the alleyway where he was found?"

"Not alone, but she could have had help. Bernie perhaps, or even Margy: Billy wasn't a particularly large man, and Margy's fairly robust. The two of them together could have managed it. We're assuming he was sedated, then?"

Jack nodded. "Everyone we've spoken to has remarked on his coming over tired during drinks, but his wife said he'd had a rest before dinner. It seems fairly likely that someone slipped something into his glass."

"But who? It could have been any member of the family, or one of the servants. So that doesn't help us at all."

"No. We need to narrow down whether a particular type of sedative was used, and who might have had access to it. With luck, Dr. Johnson will be able to help us with that."

"There's something else he may be able to help us with."

"Oh?"

"Well, the whole family is assuming that Billy was infertile, and the child Charlotte was carrying was Bernie's. But would that unsubstantiated assumption be enough to satisfy a courtroom?"

Jack couldn't help but smile. "Probably not. And I look forward to seeing the expression on Dr. Johnson's face when you raise the subject."

Phryne smiled back as he knocked on the drawing room door.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you once again for the reviews, and my apologies for Miss Postlethwaite's language: it __is__ 1929._

* * *

"Did my sister-in-law do a convincing job in her role as grieving widow?" Miss Marjorie Postlethwaite was, as Phryne had described, a robust woman dressed in a no-nonsense lady's suit which did nothing to emphasise whatever feminine charms she might have possessed. The book she set aside as they entered was Marx, and Jack made a mental note to look into Miss Postlethwaite's political leanings, activities and associates, just in case.

"We know about her relationship with Bernard," Phryne confirmed.

"Then you know that William was too damned good for her. But that was Billy: when he had a weakness, it was always a costly one."

Since they appeared to have skipped straight past the pleasantries, Jack decided simply to carry on. "How would you describe your relationship with William?"

"A damn sight better than my relationship with either of my other brothers. William might have hung onto the purse strings like a Scottish Jew, but he was willing to fork over a half-way decent allowance regardless of how much we fought, what I wore, or whom I chose to associate with. I can't imagine Archie being so tolerant. He thinks I should have been married off years ago."

"So things are likely to be difficult for you, now that Archibald's in control?" Jack asked.

Marjorie snorted. "Archie's been in control of this family for years. Billy never did have the balls to stand up to him, and neither does Bernie."

"And what about you?" Phryne asked, to be greeted with another snort.

"I have no balls at all; that's the problem. I can argue and yell all I want, and it doesn't make a blind bit of difference. Regardless of how much we may have fought, when it came to Archie, Billy and I were on the same side. With him gone..." She was silent for a moment, then gave herself a brisk shake. "Still, when has life ever been fair? I've got a little bit tucked away, and of course there are Mother's jewels. Feminine frippery was one of the few things Father and Archie were willing to let me inherit, but they're worth a small fortune. So if I'm to leave and seek my fortune elsewhere, at least I have a damn good head start."

She could add nothing new to the account of the hours prior to her brother's death. William had come over tired during drinks, which she assumed was due to the alcohol ("he always was a damned featherweight"), and retired shortly before nine p.m. Having no wish to remain alone in the company of her sister-in-law and younger brother ("I'm no fan of marriage myself, but if you make a vow you damned well ought to keep it"), after Archibald and Josephine had left she had excused herself with a final nightcap and a good book ("nothing like a little Virgil before bed"), and known nothing more of her family until the butler had interrupted her at breakfast to inform her that her brother was missing. She had been the one to send the gardener's boy and one of the maids out to look for him once it was determined that he was not in the house, and the first to speak to the police after the gardener's boy led them back to the family residence ("and I hope you catch the bastard who did it and hang him high.").

...

"Miss Fisher, if I have ever in the past implied that I find your company to be anything other than soothingly restful, I take it back and apologise unreservedly," Jack remarked, once they were safely out of earshot.

"She's quite the force of nature, isn't she?" Phryne grinned.

"Indeed. But I can't see her conspiring to help Charlotte cover up her brother's murder. I think hog-tying her and dragging her to the police station herself would be more her style."

"Quite possibly. And while I can certainly see her stabbing her brother to death in a fit of rage, I can't imagine her plotting his cold-blooded and premeditated murder. From her perspective it'd make more sense to take out Archie."

"And I'm perfectly willing to believe that she would be fully capable of it. Shall we go find out what Collins has for us?"

...

"So, none of the staff seem particularly fond of any of the family," Hugh began, when they were comparing notes back at the car. "I think the cook summed it up well." He quoted directly from his notes. "She said, 'that whole family is one big snake pit, and if you don't want to get bit you keep your head down and make sure to watch where you tread.' I don't think any of them disliked Mr. Postlethwaite enough to risk murdering him, though."

Jack considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Very good, Collins. Did their account of Tuesday night tally with what we've already been told?"

"Yes, Sir. Mr. Postlethwaite returned home around five o'clock and had a rest in his room before dinner with his family – that's Mrs. Postlethwaite, Miss Postlethwaite, and Mr. Bernard – at seven. The atmosphere at the table seemed strained, but that was nothing unusual. Mr. Archibald and his wife arrived in their motorcar around eight. Mr. Daniels, the butler, served the first round of drinks in the parlour shortly after, but was then dismissed."

"Did he notice what each family member had?"

"Yes, Miss. The gentlemen were all drinking brandy, and the two Mrs. Postlethwaites had sherry. There was a disagreement between Mr. Archibald and Miss Postlethwaite over her drink: she wanted brandy but he tried to insist that she should have sherry. In the end, she poured her own drink, which was brandy."

"That sounds like our Miss Postlethwaite," Jack remarked wryly. "Did the staff notice anything else that night?"

"Uh, Mr. Archibald and his wife left rather early, but that wasn't necessarily unusual. According to the butler, various family members are often storming in or out of the house."

"Including William?" Phryne asked.

"I'm not sure Miss: I didn't think to ask."

"Nevermind Collins; with his leg, I doubt he was in the habit of storming anywhere."

"One of the maids mentioned that she heard a car pull up outside a bit later on, after the family had gone to bed. She thought that it sounded like Mr. Archibald's, but she didn't look to see. She says she heard the front door open and close twice, about ten minutes apart, and then the car pulled away again."

"Now that is interesting," Jack remarked. "Well done, Collins."

As always when the Inspector praised him, Hugh couldn't help but smile. "Thank you, Sir."


	6. Chapter 6

_Thank you once again to those people who have taken the time to read and review this fic: your encouragement is ALWAYS appreciated._

* * *

Mrs. Josephine Postlethwaite was exactly the kind of woman Phryne would have expected Mr. Archibald Postlethwaite to choose for a wife. A demure-looking woman in a conservative navy blue dress, her hair pulled smoothly back into a neat bun, she sat calm and composed while the two detectives were escorted into her parlour.

"Mrs. Postlethwaite. I'm Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. This is the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher, lady detective. We're here regarding your brother-in-law's death."

"I'm not sure how much help I can give you; to be honest, I never knew him that well."

"I got the impression that the six of you spent rather a lot of time together," Phryne remarked.

"Well, yes, but that's the thing: it was always the six of us. How well can you really get to know a person when you only ever see them as part of a crowd? William and I shared no great confidences; it wouldn't have been proper."

"I understand your husband sets great store by propriety?" Jack responded.

"Well somebody has to. William's gambling nearly ruined him, and you're no doubt aware of the shocking way Charlotte and Bernard are carrying on. And Marjorie, while she has her strengths, is hardly a paragon of womanly virtue."

"Yes, we met your sister-in-law. We understand you joined them for drinks that night?"

"Yes, at around eight o'clock."

"Could you describe the evening to us?"

Josephine sighed. "To be honest, it was rather unpleasant. Archie and Marjorie had a row, and William was looking positively ill. And I always feel so awkward whenever I'm around Charlotte and Bernard. Frankly, it was rather a relief to leave."

"And what time was that?" Phryne asked.

"Archie drove us home around nine o'clock."

"And did either of you go out again after that?" Jack asked.

Josephine frowned. "No, why would we?"

"Somebody mentioned that they heard your car pull up outside William's residence a couple of hours later."

"I can't think how. Archie takes sleeping pills, and I haven't driven since the War. Mother insisted that I learn, but I get so terribly nervous behind the wheel, and Archie's always perfectly happy for me to use Mr. Standley as a driver whenever I need to go out."

"Mr. Standley being..."

"Our butler."

Jack and Phryne exchanged a look, but there seemed to be nothing more to be said. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Postlethwaite," Jack said, as he and Phryne rose and moved towards the door.

"Inspector?" He turned back.

"Yes?"

"Well, it's rather a delicate matter, but just lately I'd been noticing certain... signs, you might call them. Things I'm sure only another woman would notice. Archie says I imagine things, but... do you happen to know whether my sister-in-law is expecting?"

Jack hesitated, but he was no liar and silence or equivocation would of themselves be telling answers, so he nodded. "We believe she is, yes."

"And the child is Bernard's?"

This time Phryne answered. "It seems likely, yes."

"Oh, poor William. Archie will be furious."

...

"How do you think she figured it out?" Jack asked, once they were headed back to the car.

Phryne shrugged. "Well, as she said, there are some things a woman is more likely to notice. A tendency to unexplained indisposure, especially around mealtimes. A slight thickening around the waist. Or perhaps there's been gossip between the maids."

Jack frowned. "If the couple are keeping it secret, how would the maid know?"

"Well, they are usually responsible for managing the laundry, Jack." He had been married, she thought, surely he didn't need her to spell it out for him. Sure enough, after a moment's puzzlement she saw understanding dawn upon his face.

"I see."

"The one way I can guarantee she won't have found out is through her sister-in-law's confidence: there is no way Charlotte Postlethwaite would have let Josephine know that she was expecting."

"Based on?"

"Well she _is_ married to Archibald, guardian of all things moral and upright."

"You really don't like him, do you?"

"Not at all."

...

"There's the butler, the housekeeper, the nanny, and a maid," Collins informed them, "and none of them have much to do with Mr. William's household."

"Did any of them mention hearing Mr. Archibald go out again that night, perhaps around half past ten?"

"Yes Sir. Mr. Standley, the butler, heard the car pull out about then, and come back around midnight. But he said that wasn't unusual: Mr. Archibald has trouble sleeping, and sometimes rather than take a pill he'll go out to his club for an hour or two."

"It's an all-hours establishment, then?" Jack asked.

Hugh felt himself blushing. "Uh, yes sir, but I don't think it's, you know, one of _those_ types of clubs," this with a nervous glance at Miss Fisher. The knowledge that she had infiltrated and performed in one of 'those' clubs did not make discussing the subject in front of her any easier – in fact, if anything it made it even more awkward. "Just, you know, a place for gentlemen to drink and smoke and that sort of thing."

"Yes, I can't imagine Archie being a member of a club that was actually interesting," Phryne remarked tartly. "What about you, Jack? What sort of club would appeal to a man of your tastes?"

He responded with dignity. "I can assure you, Miss Fisher, that I am quite happy with the police clubrooms and the RSA. Now," he continued before she had a chance to comment further, "I believe we have a corpse to examine."

Phryne looped her arm through his. "Why, Inspector Robinson, you do know how to show a girl a good time."

With a brisk "Come along, Collins," thrown over his shoulder, the Inspector escorted the lady detective back to the car.

...

Dr. Johnson thinned his lips in distaste when Inspector Robinson ushered That Fisher Woman into his morgue, but said nothing. There was absolutely no point in objecting to her presence, not when she had the Inspector wrapped so firmly around her little finger, and the woman knew it. She had even taken to turning up on her own on occasion, secure in the knowledge that any complaint made to the Inspector about her behaviour would be dismissed out of hand. The Inspector himself might take the occasional verbal swipe at her, but let anyone else try it and he reacted for all the world like the protective big brother who had just seen another boy pull his little sister's hair.

"Mr. William Postlethwaite." The Inspector began. "What do you have for me, doctor?"

"Well, you were right about the sedative. He'd consumed several barbiturates, probably crushed up in his brandy judging by the stomach contents. But that wasn't what killed him." He pulled the sheet back. "Death was inflicted by a single knife-wound below the lower left rib, striking up into the lung and puncturing the heart. The blade was diamond-shaped, at least eight inches long, assuming it was buried to the hilt, and relatively thick. Perhaps a dagger of some kind, or a bayonet."

"Would the pills on their own have been enough to kill him?" Jack enquired.

The doctor pursed his lips. "For a man of his stature and relative frailty, especially when combined with the alcohol, possibly, but only possibly. They would, however, have rendered him completely unconscious and incapable of defending himself."

"And also incapable of walking," Phryne remarked. "Was he killed in the alleyway?" This to Jack, who was shuffling through the crime-scene photos. Evidently those had not made their way to his desk when Moreston passed over the file, but had somehow been diverted to Dr. Johnson instead.

"Judging by the photographs, yes. There was a considerable pool of blood at the scene. Someone must have carried him there before they stabbed him." He saw her draw a deep breath, and was reminded that she had known this man, that she had called him a friend. He laid a gentle hand on her arm. "Would you like a moment?"

She looked up at him, and he was shocked – and yet unsurprised – to see tears shimmering in her eyes, tears which she would almost certainly not allow herself to actually shed. Phryne Fisher seldom cried. "Would you mind?"

"Of course not." He jerked his head at Dr. Johnson, who frowned in annoyance but withdrew with him to the other side of the room, leaving Phryne standing alone by her friend's body. To Jack's surprise, he saw her reach down almost absently and pull the sheet back up, so that it was covering William decently to his mid-torso. Hiding both his manhood and the wound which had killed him, along with his withered leg.

"Miss Fisher knew the victim personally," he explained softly. He was unsurprised when this did not seem to mollify the doctor, whose dislike for Phryne – and females in general – was well-established.

"And yet you're letting her involve herself with the case?"

He shrugged. "They don't seem to have been so close that it's a problem. More of an historic connection than a current one, I think. This is the first sign I've seen that she's actually taking it personally."

The doctor gave a long-suffering sigh, but said nothing more. After a moment Phryne gave a sigh of her own and walked back to the two men.

"There was something else I was hoping you'd be willing to examine for me?" she asked the doctor, who gave another sigh.

"Miss Fisher, I've told you before, we do not routinely examine the brain, and in this case-"

"Actually, I was thinking of something a little further... south."

"Your meaning?"

"The family suspected that William Postlethwaite was infertile," Jack explained. "His wife is pregnant, and there's a strong suspicion that the child is her lover's, not her husband's. Are you able to determine whether or not Mr. Postlethwaite would have been capable of fathering a child?"

Dr. Johnson cleared his throat. "That's something I could probably establish for you, yes. But the examination will take some time, and I absolutely refuse to perform it in the presence of a woman."

"Of course," Jack responded. "You can ring me at the station with the results."

With that he gestured to Miss Fisher, and the two of them headed for the door. Dr. Johnson closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. Now he was going to have to perform a detailed internal examination of a man's genitals. That Woman really was the living end.


	7. Chapter 7

It was late afternoon by the time they made their way back to Jack's office. To all outward appearances Phryne had already pulled herself together entirely after their trip to the morgue, but Jack called to Collins to bring tea along with an update on the enquiries he had designated to him. Hugh, always eager to please and especially to please his idols, somehow managed to locate not only two matching tea-cups with saucers but also a genuine china teapot, sugar bowl, milk jug, plate of (admittedly slightly stale) biscuits, and a tray to put them all on, and deposited the lot on the Inspector's desk before retrieving his file and making his report as Phryne poured and the two sipped appreciatively.

"I spoke with Vice, Sir, and they're looking into whether Mr. William's name or anyone matching his description had come up in connection with anyone involved in the gambling underworld. So far I haven't heard anything back. I rang Mr. Archibald's club, and they confirmed that he didn't sign in at all on Tuesday, but he does sometimes come in late at night. And Mr. Archibald's doctor confirms that he has a prescription for barbiturates."

"Good work, Collins. And good work on this tea, too. Have you been getting some pointers from Miss Williams?"

"Uh, yes sir, thank you sir." Dot had been adamant that tea needed to be made in a _clean_ tea-pot, with fresh, dry leaves, and water that had just come to the boil. It really did seem to make a difference.

"Very good. If you see Sergeant Moreston, tell him I'd like a report on his progress. Otherwise, I think I'll begin work on a search warrant for both Postlethwaite residences, and we'll call it a day. You might as well head home, Miss Fisher."

"I can't stay for Moreston's report?"

"If you wish." He paused, then, with uncharacteristic daring, added "or I could stop by your house later on tonight and fill you in?"

She smiled, pleased by his suggestion. It had been far too long since they had enjoyed an evening together in her parlour. Of course, she had had plans, but nothing that couldn't be cancelled at the last minute. "An excellent idea, Inspector. I'll look forward to it. Shall we call it seven, and I'll provide a light supper as well?"

He smiled in return. "That sounds wonderful. I shall see you at seven."

...

"You really will have me looking like Bernard Postlethwaite," Jack commented later that evening, after he and Phryne had exchanged the obligatory pleasantries.

"Never," she responded, leading him into the well-lit dining-room. "Just a light meal of sardines on toast, followed by a baked apple with custard. Hardly more than a snack, really."

He smiled, but said nothing more. Phryne had confided in him once that she had been no stranger to hunger in her childhood, and he knew what it meant to her to have plentiful access to food and to be able to offer food to others. And he couldn't pretend that he didn't benefit by her generosity: had he been responsible for his own supper tonight he likely would have bought a rather inferior pie from a cart on the way home and washed it down with a quick pint at the pub before closing, more for the sake of company and to save himself the bother of lighting the stove to heat water for tea than because he actually wanted a beer. Instead, here he was, being brought perfectly-toasted rounds of bread liberally spread with butter and topped with sardines in a delicious savoury sauce. Mr. Butler poured them each a glass of wine and quietly withdrew.

"So, what did Sergeant Moreston have to say?"

"About what we expected. No leads on the 'robbery', and William's wallet turned up in a rubbish bin a couple of streets away. But someone did spot a car parked in the area at around 11pm. No license plate, but it matched the description of Archibald Postlethwaite's vehicle."

"So Billy was drugged with sleeping pills matching those prescribed to Archie. Archie's butler heard him leave in the car at around half-past ten, but he never signed in at his club. Billy's maid thinks she heard Archie's car outside the house just before eleven, and the car was also seen at the crime-scene a short while later. And of all the family, ex-military man Archie is the one most likely to have the physical strength to manhandle his unconscious brother out of his bed, down the stairs, and into and out of the car." Her eyes met Jack's across the table.

"I think we've found our man," he agreed. "I'll have the search warrants tomorrow morning: we'll see if the blade used to murder William turns up at either of the houses, and I'll have some men canvas William's street: find out whether anyone actually _saw_ Archibald's car, or better yet Archibald himself, back at the house that night."

Phryne sighed. "A double-bluff after all. And to think I almost believed him when he said that he was too clever for that."

"Not everyone is possessed of your intelligence and resourcefulness, Miss Fisher." He tilted his head on one side. "Speaking of which, at the moment our evidence is primarily circumstantial. I want that pill bottle and, if possible, that knife, and I want them to be admissible in court, so no sneaking off tonight to execute your own private search."

She stretched her eyes wide in exaggerated innocence. "Why, Inspector, whatever are you implying?"

He leaned closer, his expression and tone half-teasing, half-serious. "I don't believe I was implying anything, Miss Fisher: I was outright telling you not to jeopardise our case by breaking in to either William or Archibald's houses tonight."

"You're almost as boring as Archibald Postlethwaite."

He gave her a meaningful look, a silent reminder of all that passed, spoken and unspoken, between them. "Only 'almost', Miss Fisher," he reminded her pointedly.

...

They sat together on the love-seat in the parlour after their meal, Jack angled into the corner and Phryne curled up at the other end, not quite touching, each sipping from a tumbler of whiskey.

"I've missed this," Phryne remarked suddenly.

"Surely you have plenty to keep yourself occupied?"

"Surely you do as well." He tilted his head from side to side in answer. "But it isn't the same."

"No," he agreed, "it isn't." Aware that the topic was edging perilously close to dangerous territory he shook himself and abruptly changed the subject. "So, tell me about your latest case. I understand that you were out of town for a day or two."

She smiled at the thought that he had cared enough to know that. "Almost a week, actually."

"And yet, not a single dead body?"

"None at all, but you wouldn't believe the trouble I had..." and she launched into a tale of runaway ne'er-do-well fiancés, parochial backwater towns, and unexpected mobs of kangaroos that soon had him chuckling quietly to himself and wondering, not for the first time, whether he should consider leaving policing and asking Phryne to take him on as a partner in her detective business. It really did seem to be much more fun.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's note: And behold, there was great rejoicing, for it was proclaimed throughout the world that a third season of the incomparable Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries would indeed be created! _

_Well done to everyone who took the time to petition, email, and join the Facebook page (where the above was anounced, albeit in rather less florid terms, on June 13th). Filming is due to start in October, and I for one am eagerly anticipating seeing the moment when my fanfiction to date is overtaken by new canon content._

* * *

Jack had insisted that Phryne meet him at the station the next morning rather than at Archibald Postlethwaite's residence, and they drove there in convoy with Jack, to Phryne's frustration, in the lead ("I'd prefer that the household didn't have advance warning of our intentions, Miss Fisher, so if you could see fit to curb your race-driving instincts for the duration of the journey I'd be most grateful"). They walked to the door together, Jack in the middle and Phryne and Hugh flanking him almost unconsciously.

"Is Mr. or Mrs. Postlethwaite at home?" Jack asked as soon as the butler answered the door. To Phryne's disgust, they had timed their arrival for a little before eight thirty, in hopes of catching the master of the house before he departed for work, but even with the early start it appeared that they were out of luck.

"I'm very sorry Inspector," Mr. Standley replied, "but I'm afraid neither Mr. nor Mrs. Postlethwaite are here right now."

"Do you know where they might be contacted?"

"At Mr. Bernard's residence. They were telephoned a little over an hour ago. It appears that Mrs. Charlotte has had an accident."

"Is it serious?" Phryne asked.

"I'm afraid so. According to Miss Marjorie she fell down the stairs in the small hours of this morning and struck her head. She did not survive."

Jack and Phryne exchanged glances, and Jack jerked his head back down the path. With a brief "give us a moment," to the butler, he moved them out of earshot.

"So the mother of the unborn heir to the Postlethwaite estate is dead?" Phryne began.

"After I let slip to Archibald's wife yesterday about her condition." She could hear the bitter condemnation in his voice, and made her own tone resolute.

"He would have found out sooner or later." She paused. "If Charlotte died hours ago, the police must already have been called..."

He glanced from the house to the road, torn.

"Sir, Miss Fisher and I can search the house, if you want to go to the scene. That would be legal, wouldn't it, as long as I was with her?"

Jack nodded, considering. "Yes, it would." He gave himself a brisk shake. "As long as you stick to her like glue, Collins, and don't let her out of your sight for a moment." His expression turned meaningful. "Not even to powder her nose. And you, Miss Fisher: no funny business." When she opened her mouth to protest he cut her off. "I mean it. Postlethwaite has already murdered two people and an unborn child, and I'll be damned if I'll see you jeopardise the case against him simply because it strikes you as being more convenient. Search the house, bag and label any evidence, then join me at the main Postlethwaite residence. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Sir," Collins answered smartly. Phryne rolled her eyes.

"Of course, Jack." And then, when he continued to frown, she sighed. "I swear, I'll be on my very best, completely law-abiding, behaviour." He gave her one last long, hard look, then handed the paperwork to Hugh.

"Very good. I'll see you at the other house as soon as possible."

He turned and walked briskly back down the path. Phryne smiled brightly at Hugh, who gave a nervous smile of his own in return. "Let's get on with it then, shall we?" she suggested.

...

In spite of his words to her, Jack had no real concerns about leaving Phryne in charge of searching Archibald and Josephine's house. In fact, it was rather a relief to be able to delegate that responsibility to her, secure in the knowledge that she seemed to have an unerring instinct for locating evidence, in order to reach his potential murder scene as soon as possible. The residence of the late William and Charlotte Postlethwaite was a hive of activity when Jack arrived.

"Sir!" a startled constable began, drawing himself swiftly to attention when he saw the Inspector approaching the house. "We weren't expecting you. The lady of the house had an accident-"

"I rather suspect that it was no accident, constable, but who's in charge here?" Jack interrupted.

"Sergeant Higgins, sir, and-" he lowered his voice to a confidential tone "- I think he might be inclined to agree with you, sir."

Jack couldn't help but smile at that. Higgins was a bright young man, one of the best under his command, which was why he'd made it to sergeant so soon after joining the Force.

He entered the main hallway to see Higgins walking very deliberately around the pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs. "Higgins?"

The young sergeant jumped slightly and turned, his shoulders relaxing in subtle relief when he saw who it was. "Am I glad to see you, sir."

"What have you got?"

"Well, unfortunately they moved the body. Although I suppose I probably shouldn't say it that way: she may still have been alive at the time, and they were endeavouring to render assistance. She's upstairs, in her bedroom."

"Take me to see her."

"Of course, sir." As they mounted the stairs, the sergeant glanced across at him. "Forgive me for asking, sir, but why are you here? At this stage this appears to be no more than a tragic accident."

Jack didn't miss the subtle emphasis Higgins placed on the word 'appears'. Yes, he was indeed a keen one. In a soft voice, he replied "what if I told you, Higgins, that the victim's husband was murdered three nights ago? And that the victim herself was pregnant, quite possibly to her brother-in-law?"

Higgins thought for a moment. "I would say, sir, that that makes a lot of rather odd things appear significantly less odd." They had now arrived outside one of the doors on the first floor. "She's in here, sir."

From the doorway, Charlotte Postlethwaite appeared to be merely sleeping, placed back in her bed with the covers drawn up to her chest. The effect was ruined, however, when they approached and looked down at her, seeing, from their new angle, the bloodied wound on her left temple.

"I've examined the entire staircase and the hallway below, sir: I can't see where she might have sustained that injury."

"Which means she was either struck in the head and thrown down the stairs to cover it up, or else thrown down the stairs and then struck in the head to finish the job." Jack nodded in thought.

"I have a constable with the family, and another with the staff. Constable Peters is searching the house, and you would have seen Granville on the door when you came in. I thought perhaps I was being a little excessive, but..."

"No, you've done exactly the right thing, Sergeant," Jack confirmed.

"Thank you, sir."

He nodded. "Now, is there a telephone somewhere I can use?"

...

Phryne, meanwhile, had made a beeline for Archibald and Josephine's bathrooms, Hugh in tow. The house boasted two: one, apparently, for the use of the family and located between Archibald and Josephine's rooms, and the other down the corridor towards the guest bedrooms. Phryne was not surprised when the former yielded a half-full bottle of barbiturates.

"Here you go, Hugh," she remarked, passing them to him with gloved hand. The young constable had an evidence bag waiting and accepted them, adding a neat note detailing the contents, the date and the location in which they had been found. Phryne completed a thorough search of each bathroom, then returned to the hallway, looking around speculatively.

"We still need the dagger." She pursed her lips in thought. "If Archibald still has it, it's likely to be somewhere he considers fairly private." When his bedroom yielded nothing, she headed back downstairs.

"What now, Miss?" Hugh asked, as he followed along faithfully behind her.

"Archibald's study," Phryne replied. "After his bedroom, it's a man's most private sanctuary. In fact, it's often more private: I've never known a man to forbid the maids from picking up after him in the bedroom, but I've known plenty who have banished them from their studies."

Hugh nodded, filing that titbit away for future consideration.

The study was dominated by a large desk made of some dark, heavy wood, and littered with papers and books, but after only a brief glance around Phryne homed in on the blades displayed above the mantlepiece. "Around eight inches in length..." she mused to herself, and plucked a weapon from the wall, moving to examine it in the light coming from the window. "What does that look like to you, Hugh?" she demanded, turning it so that he could see the reddish-brown stain where the blade met the hilt.

"Blood?" the young man hazarded, and she nodded.

"Almost certainly. I think you'd better bag this one for the Inspector." She broke off suddenly, as the ringing of the telephone brought footsteps to the hallway. Hugh caught himself straining his ears to hear what was said, and was embarrassed to realise he was eavesdropping – until he noticed Miss Fisher concentrating with even more fixed attention. After a moment, however, they heard footsteps approaching and she was all action once again. "Get that evidence bagged, constable." She might almost have been the Inspector in that moment, and Hugh obeyed immediately. By the time Mr. Standley arrived at the door, the blade was sealed out of sight.

"I beg your pardon Miss, Constable, but Inspector Robinson is on the telephone. He'd like a word with the lady."

Phryne nodded. "Of course."


End file.
